


Who needs rose gardens, if they can have orgasms instead

by merle_p



Series: Being a Widow [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Female Friendship, Fix-It, Iron Man 3 Spoilers, Major Character Injury, Medical Inaccuracies, Miscommunication, Recovery, Romantic Friendship, SHIELD Agents Being Badass, Strong Female Characters, sex with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 18:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/929508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merle_p/pseuds/merle_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He seemed to be doing fine before," Clint finally says, flinging the empty plastic bottle into the trashcan without even looking. "What do you think happened?" </p><p>She looks him in the eye and refuses to feel bad for lying to him. "I don't know," she says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who needs rose gardens, if they can have orgasms instead

**Author's Note:**

> Dear recipient, I hope you like your story! I didn't trust myself to write Natasha/Pepper, which was the other pairing you requested, so have some gratuitous Natasha&Pepper friendship with your Natasha/Phil instead! Also, in my head, Natasha and Phil are not really relationship types, but this is exactly why they work so well. 
> 
> This has spoilers for Iron Man 3, as well as blink-and-you'll-miss-it speculation about two characters of Agents of SHIELD. 
> 
> None of the Marvel Characters are mine!

_"No," he said, and she looked up from where she'd settled in between his knees._

_"No what?" she asked, distractedly, palming his cock through the fabric of his sweats. He was only half-hard, but she could already feel him twitching under her fingers._

_"No, stop," he replied, more urgently now, and put a hand over Natasha's to push her away, not brutally, but with determination._

_It took her an embarrassingly long moment to realize what he meant, but when she did, she flinched, pulling back hastily until she was sitting on her haunches, far enough away so that she wouldn't somehow still touch him accidentally._

_His face, when she looked up at him, was impassive, patient, but she could see the tension lurking in the corners of his eyes._

_"Is something wrong?" she asked neutrally, ignoring the confusion warring with an irrational feeling of hurt in her chest._

_"Natasha," he said, mildly, in the paternal tone he used when one of his assets had done something stupid, but he really couldn't be mad at them. The tone usually came naturally to him, but the tight set to his mouth told her that he was actually struggling, this time._

_"I appreciate you trying, but I think we both know why this is not going to happen anymore."_

_She took ten seconds to pull herself together, then rolled up to her feet._

_"Of course," she said, "my mistake," even though she didn't understand at all. It was not a feeling she was used to._

_"You don't have to leave, Natasha," he said, but she was already at the door. She was aware that maybe it was unfair of her to go somewhere he wouldn't be able to follow, but, she figured, he had done it first._

**

About a month after the whole Tony Stark/Extremis debacle, Pepper Potts leaves a voice mail on her phone, explaining that they are in town, asking if Natasha would like to meet for coffee, some time.

She calls back to confirm, immediately on alert. She may have found Tony Stark minimally less annoying, and surprisingly loyal by the time they were done saving New York, plus, he did introduce them to this really amazing shawarma joint, but that doesn't mean S.H.I.E.L.D can necessarily trust that his agenda won't interfere with theirs. Not that she herself trusts S.H.I.E.L.D all that much these days, but that's a different story. 

But when they settle down on a bench in Bryant Park with their Starbucks cups, Natasha has already figured out that Pepper is not here on behalf of Stark Industries at all. She clearly just needs someone to talk about the whole Wow-I-have-Superpowers experience with someone who is, well, not Tony, and Natasha finds that she is pleased at the realization. She does not have a lot of female friends, not because she doesn't get along with other women – that's a rumor that junior agents sometimes like to spread and it couldn't be further away from the truth. It's just that despite S.H.I.E.L.D's policy of zero-tolerance non-discrimination gender equality blah blah blah, the organization is still, in many ways, a boys' club, just like the superhero business is: See Avengers, case in point. 

By the time her cup is empty and Pepper is checking her phone, she actually feels like smiling. Pepper seems to feel similarly, because she does smile, when she looks up from her cell. 

"This was great, we should definitely do this again," she says, and Natasha indulges her when she actually leans in for air kisses. "I don't spend enough time around people I like … aside from Tony, of course." She chuckles, fondly, then purses her lips. "And until he's at least well enough to meet me for coffee in Manhattan by himself, I am not going to let Phil worry about me ...." 

Natasha is very good at schooling her features, but whatever Pepper sees in her face, it makes her trail off and look guilty.

"I'm so sorry," she says. "And I'm being self-absorbed. This must have been very difficult for all of you."

Natasha shrugs. The urge to smile is gone, but she does it anyway, knowing that it'll look sincere enough to convince Pepper. 

"He's alive. He's getting better. He'll be fine," she says, because Phil is Pepper's friend, too, and none of this is actually Pepper's fault. 

**

_Phil was unconscious the first time she saw him after the attack on New York, and later, she decided that was a good thing, since it gave her a better chance to control her reaction. There was no point in letting anyone, least of all, Coulson himself, think that any of this upset her more than was appropriate for a co-worker and an asset._

_Besides, it was worse for the others. For Clint, who blamed himself for Coulson's fate, and who was still capable of being surprised by betrayal, even though he should have known better. For Sitwell and May, who had started their careers as Coulson's protegees and would be lost at S.H.I.E.L.D. without having someone to look up to. For Hill, who probably felt guilty not just for letting this happen to Phil in the first place, but also for having to lie about it afterwards. They were all good at beating themselves up over things that could not be helped, something that Natasha had learned long ago not to waste her efforts on._

_By the time he woke up, she had worked out the adequate expression of stoic concern and fondness, knowing that he could read her well enough to get past that, if he really wanted to. When she reached out to touch his left wrist briefly, right above the IV needle sticking out of his hand, her fingers were steady._

**

The first person she runs into back at HQ is Hill, who gives her a terse nod as she stalks by, back even more rigid than usual. Everyone else is moving at their normal pace, and no alarms are ringing, so she doesn't see any reason to quicken her steps, but she heads towards the shooting range instead of the cafeteria. 

"Did something happen?" she asks Clint. He doesn't set his bow down immediately, and she watches him ruin another round of moving paper targets. It's never not impressing, so she lets herself enjoy the show. 

Once he's done, he looks around to make sure they are alone before he pulls a face. 

"Coulson kind of yelled at his physiotherapist this morning."

"Why?" she asks, and Clint shrugs. 

"I am pretty sure it wasn't the therapist's fault," he says and carefully sets down the weapon to take off his wrist guard. "He just – I think it's sinking in that he might not go back into the field again."

She nods, unsurprised. It's not a secret that the doctors are doubtful about him gaining back the full range of motion in his arm, and no one really knows how his artificial heart is going to react to the stress and exertion that comes with being a secret agent.

"What did you say to him?" she asks, and watches Clint do something complicated with his mouth. 

"Nothing," he huffs. "I went to get Hill."

That explains Hill's tense expression in the hallway, but it also drives home just how worried Clint must have been. Most of the time, Clint trusts himself to deal with Phil's moods just fine, except for when he thinks his handler needs someone to talk to. It's not so much that Clint is actually all that bad at talking, it's that he _thinks_ he is, and in these rare situations, he usually opts to call her, or Maria Hill instead. Natasha is glad that Clint's decision fell on Hill this time, and carefully does not consider the possibility that Clint suggested her, and Phil refused. 

She hands Clint the red Gatorade she brought, which he accepts with a grateful nod. He isn't always good at taking care of his basic needs, but Phil used to be the one to remind him. She wonders if taking over his responsibilities means having accepted that things won't ever be the same as before. 

"He seemed to be doing fine before," Clint finally says, flinging the empty plastic bottle into the trashcan without even looking. "What do you think happened?" 

She looks him in the eye and refuses to feel bad for lying to him. "I don't know," she says. 

He narrows his eyes, but doesn't press the issue. "Maybe you should talk to him," he suggests. "He does listen to you, you know."

She probably should, so she doesn't tell Clint that she is not sure about Phil's willingness to listen to her these days. 

"That's just because listening to you usually ends in tears and weird rashes," she says, and feels vindicated when he gives her a smile, brief, but genuine. 

**

_The last time they fucked before – before, had been in her quarters on the helicarrier. She had paged him under a pretense that she was sure he could see right through, and was surprised when he showed up so readily, only minutes later._

_"Somehow I expected more of an argument about this," she commented, with interest, when he let her back him against the closed door and pin his hands against the wood next to his head._

_He smiled with his eyes. "Disappointed?" he teased, and she merely pressed a leg against his crotch in response, making him draw in a sharp breath._

_He was more hyped up than she'd seen him in a long time, excited about meeting Captain America, but worried about Barton, and the looming end of the world; she had been running on adrenaline since he'd called her off the mission with the Russians, and was still on edge over having to corner Banner in India._

_The sex was rougher than their usual encounters, but he was careful to still let her take the lead, knowing her well enough to remember that if she wanted to surrender, she'd tell him so. She came away from it with the impression of his fingertips against her collarbone, and the knowledge that his shirt hid the bite marks she had put there, in a neat line running from his right biceps to the skin above his shoulder blade._

**

When she walks past Hill's office on her way to the coffee room, the assistant director calls out for her, so Natasha wistfully abandons her pursuit of black tea, and follows her voice. 

"We are sending you out," Hill tells her, once Natasha has closed the door behind herself. Her desk is uncharacteristically cluttered, a sign of the transformations that the agency has had to undergo in the last six months. "Undercover with Barton and May as back-up. Sitwell's going to be your handler." 

Natasha nods. They've been on base for too long already, and she doesn't object to any of the team members. "Where to?" she asks. 

"Uganda," Hill answers easily, which Natasha appreciates, because it's more than she technically needs to know right now. 

"Might take you a few weeks. You are leaving the day after tomorrow," Hill tells her. "You'll get the details in time."

"Yes, Ma'am," she says, and she knows she is supposed to leave, now, but Hill still looks tired, and there is a new line on the woman's forehead, visible even through the bangs. So she pauses.

"I heard Agent Coulson's physiotherapy session didn't go so well," she says, phrasing vague enough for Hill to be able to wave if off if she wants to. 

Hill raises her brows, but doesn't bother asking what she's talking about. 

"He made the physiotherapist cry," Hill says dryly, "and scared Barton enough to call me out of a meeting with Homeland Security. Granted, it was a very boring meeting, so he was actually doing me a favor, but he didn't know that."

"You don't sound worried," Natasha remarks, which is a risk, but a small one. She and Hill are not particularly close, but they trust each other to have each other's backs when it matters, and Natasha has always liked Hill's matter-of-factness, a welcome change to Fury's inclination towards the dramatic, Clint's vulnerable cynicism and Phil's carefully hidden idealism. 

Hill sighs, and presses the knuckle of a thumb against the bridge of her nose, a rare sign of weakness. 

"He got stabbed, was in a coma, and woke up to find that his heart has been replaced, that he got a partial lung transplant, and that his left arm is not going to be as good as the right one ever again. I'm not going to lose sleep over him having a minor crisis once in a while. It's probably good for him at this point," she adds. "Forces him to face the future."

Natasha shifts her stance, almost unperceivably, although she knows that Hill might pick up on it anyway. "And what does that future look like?" she asks. 

"Strategizing from a desk, supervising ops from the command center," Hill responds. "He's not going to be out of work, he's much too valuable for that. He'll miss the field. He'll get used to it." 

She places her hands flat on her desk, as if to signal that this is all she's got to say on the issue, but then she narrows her eyes and gives Natasha a sharp look. 

"Do you know anything I don't, Romanov?" she asks, and it's clear from her tone that if that is the case, she'll want to know. 

"No, Ma'am," she denies. "Nothing. I'll go and get ready for Uganda, then."

Hill nods, and turns towards her computer screen. "Send Barton to me when you see him, will you?" she says, and doesn't look up when Natasha leaves the room.

**

_Natasha tried not to lie to herself out of principle, so she was aware, long before New York, that having sex with Phil Coulson had become something of a habit. She hadn't really intended for that to happen, but the positive aspects of their arrangement outweighed the negative by far, and so she didn't see any reason to stop seeking him out, when she needed it, or sometimes even just when she was in the mood. He never initiated anything himself – not without her somehow signaling her consent – and he never turned her away, both of which went a long way to explain why she kept coming back._

_She had wondered, for a while, what he was getting out of it. She wasn't naïve enough not to realize that he found her physically attractive, but for someone as professional as Coulson, surely that wouldn't be enough. Eventually, she had been forced to consider the possibility that providing other people with what they needed was something Coulson actually took pleasure from. Plus, he was one of the few people she trusted with her life, and she probably wasn't wrong in thinking that this trust went both ways – in their line of profession, that was not a benefit anyone could take for granted._

_When he rejected her, the first time she approached him after the battle of New York, she had honestly not seen it coming - something that bothered her, although not quite as much as his refusal itself. She was fairly certain that she had not hurt him, and had not overestimated his physical condition at the time. His body had reacted to her touch, but it was clearly not something he had been happy about._

 _The worst part was that it made her wonder. If she had managed to misjudge the situation so thoroughly, maybe she had miscalculated before. Maybe she had been wrong about his stakes in continuing their affair. It was not a pleasant thought to dwell on._

**

A quick inquiry tells her that she's going to find Phil Coulson in his quarters, and it occurs to her, as she heads down there, that his current living arrangements probably aren't helping with his general mental state. Technically, all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are supposed to have their own place off-base, and Coulson is not an exception. Natasha knows that he owns a modest apartment in Queens that he sometimes even sleeps at (he brought Natasha with him once), but he has not been allowed to go back there since he woke up in medical two months ago. Clint jokes that Fury must either be seriously worried about him, or still trying to punish him for his recklessness, and no one talks about the fact that Coulson is still an invalid who would not be able to take care of himself, much less defend himself if need be. 

Pepper told her that Stark has been talking about a plan to remodel Stark Tower into Avengers Tower as it is being restored, which for Natasha translates into Stark's fantasy of a co-ed frat house for superheroes and therefore sounds only vaguely appealing in a very abstract way. 

But while Banner seems to be a regular guest in the Stark-Potts household, which Pepper greatly approves of – "He is a very positive influence," she insisted, at their coffee date, and did not seem particularly bothered by the tabloid headlines about rumored love triangles –, Thor is still in Asgard, and Rogers is road-tripping across the United States on his motorbike, so Natasha thinks they'll probably be safe for a while, at least until the next threatening apocalypse. 

However, right now, she thinks that for Phil, a safe environment off base (or as safe as any environment can be when shared with Tony Stark) would probably be preferable to being confined to quarters, and being forced to observe up close how other people are doing his job. 

"Natasha," he says after buzzing her in. He doesn't seem unhappy to see her, she notices, but he looks tired, marked by a wariness she is more familiar with from people much older, and with much bigger regrets. 

He is sitting at his desk, with a pile of what looks like case files, although it doesn't look like he was actually reading when he was interrupted. His right hand is fiddling with a pen, his left arm hangs uselessly by his side.

"We are leaving for Uganda in two days," she tells him, and he nods. 

"I know," he says, "I have the file right here." He pokes one of the folders on his desk with his pen. "I think you'll be fine," he continues. "It's an important mission, but it is probably going to be more boring than risky for the team."

"I'm sure Barton and May will love that," she says, dryly, and Coulson actually laughs. He seems somewhat surprised at his reaction himself. 

"I wanted to talk to you before I left," she continues, and watches the smile freeze on Phil's face. 

"There's nothing to talk about, Natasha," he says, quietly. She raises a brow and goes to sit on his bed, just to see his reaction. His eye twitches, but he doesn't look away. 

"With all due respect," she says, "I disagree, Sir. You seem to assume that I know why you decided not to have sex with me anymore, but while there is a list of possible reasons, I do not know if one of them actually applies. Of course this is your decision, but considering the reports of your current emotional state, I would like to suggest that maybe that decision was wrong."

Phil sighs, and drops his pen. "Natasha," he starts, looking down at his legs. "I appreciate your concern, but I do not need you to – I can see why, with our history, you would consider this a responsibility, but you don't owe me anything."

"I owe you _everything_ ," she says, truthfully, and when his head snaps up, she adds: "But that is not why I came onto you."

"Natasha." Phil looks pained. "I am a _wreck_ ," he says, once again avoiding her eyes. 

"You are recovering" she corrects, incredulously. 

"But I am not going to get better!" Phil snaps, angrily. "You can push as many therapists and doctors at me as you want, but the muscles in my legs are basically non-existent at this point, I'm not going to be able to use my left arm again, and no one knows if the piece of technology they used to replace my heart is not going to shut down at the first sign of stress."

"Perhaps you should try and calm down, then," Natasha says mildly, and Phil snorts. She shrugs.

"So maybe you won't be able to go back into the field," she says. "I am not sure what that has to do with us."

He has the audacity to look at her like she is slow.

"I am _old_ ," he says. "And damaged. Surely there must be other people that are - better equipped to provide what you are looking for."

She actually laughs at him. "Like whom?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest. If he is going to suggest Clint, she thinks she actually may have to punch him. 

To his credit, he doesn't. She shakes her head. "I'm not even pretending to understand why you think that surviving a stabbing wound to the heart should have any impact on this."

"Because this is not what you signed up for," he says hotly. "It's not like we are in a relationship."

" _Of course_ we are not," she agrees, genuinely amused at the thought. "But that doesn't mean that I decided to have sex with you just because you are attractive." 

She thinks this should explain things, but he looks even more confused.

"Phil," she says. "You are aware that I don't usually have sex with people, aren't you? You should be, you've read my file. Not that it isn't pleasant, but honestly, it's almost never a good idea. You are the only person I have had sex with willingly and repeatedly in the last decade. We are friends. I trust you. You are good at getting me off. I enjoy getting you off. This works for me, and I don't see how your scars are going to change any of that."

"You are serious," he says, and it isn't a question. He is better than anyone at calling her bluffs. 

"I'm serious," she says. "I'm not going to resent you if you don't want this anymore, or if you are looking for something else." She gets up from the bed, and kneels next to his chair, putting a hand on his leg while watching carefully for signs of discomfort. She cannot detect any. "But I'm not going to give this up so that you can indulge some more in those self-sacrificing urges you are so fond of." She smiles. "Sir."

He shakes his head, but his eyes are fond, and there is a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His legs fall open slightly, inviting her to run her fingers along the inside of his thigh. 

"You are insane, Agent Romanov," he says, hesitantly reaching out to touch the top of her head. 

She leans into the touch. "You knew that when you recruited me," she reminds him, and lets him guide her head where he wants it. 

"Technically, you recruited yourself," he argues, but then she presses her mouth against his groin, and he stops talking. She smiles against the fabric. This is what they are best at, anyway. 

**

_The first time it was desperation, the second time a reward. The third time there wasn't a reason, and she enjoyed that one the most._

_After six months, she stopped packing her pocket vibrator when she went on missions._

_A year later, she forgot her bra in his quarters, and did never mention it to him until she came back a week later._

_If Clint ever suspected anything, he didn't say, and the fact that he didn't made her like him even more._

_When Agent Simmons asked, she didn't lie, and told her that Phil was single. When he chose to let the junior agent down gently, Natasha reserved the right to laugh at his embarrassment._

** 

"You look good," Pepper says, and laughs self-consciously when Natasha frowns. "I don't know, you just look - relaxed. Maybe it is the tan."

"I did spend most of August in Africa," she acknowledges, taking a sip of her frappuccino. It's sweet and delicious. Clint would die laughing if heard about her choice of beverage, but she trusts Pepper not to rat her out. 

"That would do it," Pepper agrees. "You should come over for dinner sometime," she says, "and no pressure - we've decided to permanently relocate to New York, so we'll be around a lot. The tower still needs some work, and Tony and Bruce keep getting distracted by redesigning the plans for the lab, but I think it's presentable enough to have dinner guests."

"Thank you, I appreciate it," Natasha says, genuinely, but vaguely, because the idea of her being anyone's dinner guest seems somewhat surreal. 

Pepper drops her plastic cup into the nearest trash can and dabs at her mouth with a paper napkin. Her lipstick is still flawless.

"I need to get back to the office," she says, somewhat regretfully. "But I am really glad you called."

"Anytime," Natasha says, and this time, she actually means it. 

"How is Phil doing, by the way?" Pepper asks while she's picking up her shopping bags. "I haven't talked to him in a while."

"He is doing much better," Natasha says, and smiles. "He's great."


End file.
